A Study of Color
That which fills us with the greatest fear, which is molten, dangerously furious. Iron, copper, rust–clearly what we see when we look at Mars. God of War. Perhaps that’s what we should call destiny.
That which is long, as in wavelength: visible light. Wavelength is the speed of light divided by frequency (λ=c/f where λ=650nm). And beyond? Longer? Longer–we must think of heat. To the invisible, unvisible, beyond (infra-) visible.
He (or she) who is Native American–but–maybe that’s something we would rather forget. It is never so simple.
Caught in the act of stealing. The color of an error, found and marked.
Communist. Republican. (since the 2000 presidential election). Or maybe it’s all embarrassment, flushing the cheek, running rampant through a country. How young must we be when this hue is imprinted on our minds: bound to fear, anger, hatred. Something happens, some ancient connection made so our brain reaches back and back and back and back to the 12th century (in Latin). Maybe it’s because of blood. Mine and yours. And long ago having a very good reason to fear.
The vibrance in a blood cell. That which can, even in my imagination, make every drop of blood drain from my head.
The ruby, symbol of sun, prosperity, the most valuable being called Pigeon’s Blood. It lends energy and hardness second only to diamond. A memory of a ring my grandmother would wear, a gift to me before she died.
A ruby leads us to passion. Love. That which is full of life. Healthy. That which is rosy, flushed with thrill. Excitement. Joy.
The blush of an apple. The romance of a rose. Strong and virile. Luscious, passionate. And this reaction? From where does it come? Why such allure? Attraction to danger? A memory of a waiting lip? A twisted, hungry bloodlust?
The fox fish dog kangaroo mite and panda. Squirrel worm finch maple clover and wheat.
A fire hydrant. Extinguisher. Alarm. Truck. As though we would not recognize their purpose if they did not match. As though they must remind us of something. Of flames crackling in a fireplace, a bonfire on a cold night, or a forest dry to tinder lit with a spark razing the land.
A star that is cool. Almost cold. And dying of old age–on the verge of explosion (at least in the next few million years). And how cold? 3000 Kelvin. Our Sun? 5600 Kelvin. “warm color.” Cool temperature. But so it is with fire. I suppose it is too rare to see an azure flame. Blue is water, calms skies, that which comforts. Or this is a dwarf star. The most common in our neighborhood of the galaxy but so dim, putting out only 1/10 or 1/10000 as much light as our sun, the eye cannot see them. They burn slowly, living trillions of years. The universe is not yet old enough for them to have aged.
That which asks for trouble–tempting–taunting–the bull. The craze of a bloodshot eye. Desperate. You are about to do something terrible. In illness, madness, drunkenness, sadness.
That which stands out, proclaiming. Stop. Off. Exit. The words of God.
That which dresses the sinner. The Mary Magdalene. When the bride doesn’t dress in white and everyone looks away in shame. Unless you’re in China, India, Taiwan, Pakistan, Vietnam.
That which traces through the story. Hidden but never lost. Woven. The red thread.
| Natalie Cunningham |
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levelheaded: A Study of Color
If there is any phrase in Natalie Cunningham’s poem that is plain and simple, it’s the title. We are reading a study, an essay written as a poem. It is a piece that gives us ideas that are far-reaching, original, and multidisciplinary. Given the complexity, the length, and the diversity of topics that arise from the subject, the title helps us stay focused, providing a frame for the work that unfolds.
If this work is an illusion of an essay, it does not try to follow the rules of beginning/middle/end, or question/analysis/conclusion. Instead, the speaker takes us through mythology, optics, politics, history, nature, religion, and some personal moments of emotion and blush. Topics come and go, and come back again. Stanzas vary in length and style. “You” and “I” surface from time to time. You could take each stanza as its own musing. You could also read them all as facets of the same multidimensional object. If the ordering of the stanzas were shuffled, different moments would stand out more or less, but the poem would work just the same.
Some poetic devices bind these ideas together. We start and end with a few stanzas opening with “That which[.]” In a sense this phrase is short for “Color is that which[…]”—each an interpretation of color, or an idea created while thinking of the concept of color.
Having said that the ordering of the stanzas isn’t crucial to the poem’s success, the poet did choose to order these stanzas in a certain way, and we learn quite a bit from following the choices of their pairings. The second stanza offers something close to a definition of color. We’re in the world of physics for a moment, dealing with facts. The first stanza, however, gives us abstract aspects: fear, fury, and destiny. And yet, the more abstract stanza adds in some factual matter, while the more factual stanza adds in some emotion. The “greatest fear” goes along with “[i]ron, copper, rust,” whereas wavelength and formulas are also asking, is there something “beyond?”
A sequence of stanzas in the second half of the poem offers a wide variety of musings and imaginative leaps. One stanza begins with “[a] ruby leads us to passion. Love. That which is full of life.” It’s a thrilling moment: love is out there as its own sentence, with no disguise. The ecstasy continues with “[e]xcitement,” “[j]oy,” “blush,” “allure,” and some great moments given as questions, most strongly the “memory of a waiting lip?” Is color the memory of a waiting lip? The poem asks. It very well may be.
More quantum leaps are coming. First, a stanza gives us a colorful list of animals and plants (“fox fish kangaroo […] maple clover and wheat”). It’s for us to figure out the colors involved. Then all of a sudden we’re in the city: “fire hydrant. Extinguisher. Alarm. Truck.” But the same stanza walks us by a “bonfire” or in “a forest.” We then jump back to physics—stars, suns, degrees in kelvin, fractions of the energy of light. The speaker is thinking big—“trillions of years”—discussing the galaxy and the universe. It’s grand. With that in mind, we’re ready to come down from this intergalactic view.
The following stanzas go back to “That which” phrases. We feel the speaker getting ready to wrap it up, yet it’s still so complex. Emotions rise, “tempting–taunting–[…] madness, […], sadness.” “The words of God” make an appearance. A bride not dressed in white reminds us of cultural differences, and we’re thinking with the speaker–how would color be perceived elsewhere?
We end up quietly. The speaker reminds us to look for “[t]hat which pierces through the story,” not fully on display but apparent nonetheless. We end up holding a “red thread,” an idea with one particular color. We go back and reread the poem. Some other stanzas are now in shadow, and others take on light.
This poem isn’t exceptionally long, but it isn’t short either. Length allows writer and reader to take it slow. Try on different frames. Perhaps every poem is a study, or every reading of a poem is a study. Luckily, no “Works Cited” section is required.
What’s the difference between “invisible” and “unvisible”? We think we know. But it’s up to you.
– The Editors
